What Could Have Been: Power Down
by mon-petit-pois
Summary: Because no one goes through what Ziva did and magically comes out "fine." What exactly happened during those nine hours in the elevator?


"You leaving?"

"I am _just _finishing this up…" Ziva said, trailing off, before capping her pen and setting it down on the table. She looked up at McGee, an accomplished look on her face. "There. Done."

"Walk out with me?" Tim suggested. She nodded and grabbed her gear. They were the last in the bullpen, and it was nearly ten o'clock. She couldn't wait to get home and just _sleep…_

"You look pooped," he observed as he pushed the down button on the elevator. The doors slid open almost automatically. They walked in.

"Excuse me?" she asked, her eyebrows raised, as the doors closed.

"It's an expression, Ziva. It means you're tired," he chuckled.

"I have never heard of such an expression," she objected.

"I promise you, it's-" McGee began to justify, but was cut off in an instant as the elevator stopped, and the lights went out, one by one.

"What the hell?" Ziva asked, urgency evident in her voice.

"It will probably come back on in a sec, Ziva. It probably just stopped temporarily- I knew that one day Gibbs' abuse of this thing would take its toll," McGee tried to console her. He couldn't see her, but knew it didn't work. He could hear her breathing start to speed up.

"If it was just stopped the lights wouldn't be out," she insisted, panic seeping into her voice.

"Relax, I'll just use the emergency call button," he told her, trying to keep her calm. Ziva heard clicking, and realized that it was the sound of the call button being pressed, but failing to work.

"The power is out, McGee. It is no use…" she told him, her voice shaking acutely. She could feel the desperation start to creep up on her.

"Ziva? Are you okay?" Tim asked, worry seeping into his voice. When he did not receive a reply, he walked towards the sound of the breathing. "Ziva, are you claustrophobic?" he questioned. If she was he had no idea…

No answer.

"Please, Ziva, answer me," he practically begged. He felt for her body and reached out to touch what had to be her shoulder.

He was ninety-six percent sure that he felt her flinch.

"Ziva!" he snapped. He needed an answer. Her accelerated breathing was all he got.

Tim reached into his pocket and found his phone, turning it on and using the light to illuminate the small space. He shined the light on Ziva's face, and saw the light reflect off of the beads of cold sweat on her face. Her eyes held an empty and haunted look.

He had never seen her like this.

…

It was so very cold. She could feel the cold seeping in, freezing her insides and holding her captive, just like the room that kept her imprisoned.

The cell was small, allowing enough room for her to lay down and stand up, but only that. She was cooped up like a caged animal, and treated just like one in all other aspects as well. She was barely even human.

But there was nothing, not even the frigid cold or this _cage_, that was worse than the dark.

The darkness was oppressive. It was paralyzing, and she felt helpless. Her hands were untied, and yet she could not defend herself.

She could handle the physical pain. She could handle the humiliation of being treated like an animal. She could handle the horror of being taken against her will… but the darkness was intolerable. In the darkness, she was alone. It was just her and her thoughts… and her thoughts were nearly as torturous as Saleem's knife.

There was a noise. Noises always startled her- she had become so used to the deafening silence.

"Ziva!"

She almost didn't recognize her own name. She hadn't heard it used in what felt like a lifetime…

But she had never told him her name. So then how…

"Please, Ziva, answer me!" he cried.

Tim. She felt a light shine in her face.

"Tim?" she asked, hopefulness coloring her voice. Why was he here? What was he doing in this dark pit of despair?

"Yeah, Ziva, I'm here," he replied, thankfulness in his voice has he noticed the life return to her eyes; but along with the life came terror.

"Why are you here?" she asked, her voice broken.

And suddenly it all made sense to him.

"Ziva, look at me," he commanded, shining the light of his phone into his own face so that Ziva could see his serious expression, "You are _not_ in Somalia. You're home, you're safe. We're in the elevator at NCIS- the power went out. Nothing's going to happen to you," he assured her, "See?" He shined the phone's light around the small enclosed space.

"NCIS?" she asked, as she looked around.

"Yeah. And no one can hurt you here," he promised. She was slowly coming back to her senses; she was slowly realizing that there was absolutely no reason for her to be afraid. It was irrational, this fear…

Her breathing began to even out.

"There we go. See, you're okay," he soothed her.

"I am sorry, Tim. I did not mean for this to happen…" she trailed off, her voice apologetic and ashamed.

"Don't worry about it. How come you didn't mention this to anyone else earlier?" he asked, his voice sympathetic.

"It was not of importance, Tim. It is _still_ not of importance. And… that is why… you have to promise me that you will tell no one of this. Please," she practically begged him.

"Ziva, we could get you help-"

"No. I do not need help. Time heals all wounds, Tim. These will heal, I just… I need to leave them alone." 

"I'm not sure that is the best thing-"

"I know what is best for me, McGee."

"What you think is best for you is not necessarily what is truly the best for you," he stated.

"I appreciate your concern, Tim, but I can handle myself," she told him confidently.

…

Ziva started to get agitated around the second hour. The rest of the nine passed by slowly. It was the longest nine hours of their life. Ziva was itching to break something. Being cooped up in here this long… it was beginning to drive her mad.

McGee was the only voice of reason in all this.

They had managed to get a hold of the building maintenance halfway into the third hour, and had been informed that the power had gone out. They were starting up the backup generator, which kept MTAC and autopsy running. They managed to tap into a little bit of that power to get on the emergency lighting, but nothing more. They were in the process of hooking the entire elevator system up to a generator of its own.

It was going to take a while, but at least they had light.

Tim was grateful that she had no more panic attacks, although being on the receiving end of her shall we say "cabin fever" was becoming unbearable. She had already broken his watch and was_ constantly_ pacing. Despite knowing her reasons for hating being cooped up like this, he couldn't help but want to rip her head off.

When they finally were released and those heavy metal doors released them from their confinement, they could have fallen to the ground with relief.

Ziva saw the gentle sunlight of the morning shining through the windows, and knew that she had nothing to worry about. She was home; she was safe. Her irritation at Tim had quickly worn away; it was merely the effects of being trapped with someone in a five foot by eight foot elevator for nine hours.

She shot him a small smile as they left to take the stairs. His responding smile reassured her and told her all she needed to know.

Tim would keep her secret. He would stay loyal to her and her wishes, for that is just the kind of man he is.

A/N: There is a reason why I don't write too much Tim stuff. I always feel like I do a bad job with it. So please tell me what you think of this- and I wrote it while watching TV so if there are any random errors try to look them over:) I really hoped you liked it- please leave a comment!

Love, Alli


End file.
